Saturday, 30 May 2009

A random list of things I loveI love dusk in summer; I love my espresso machine; I love sitting on the window sill smoking and flicking the ash into the back yard of our house; I love discovering new lovely spots in this city; I love intimate gigs of obscure but fantastic bands; I love roadtrips; I love nail polish; I love words; I love stealing posters; I love flickr; I love friends; I love planning; I love Stephen Fry; I love etymology; I love childish accessories; I love 19th century science; I love journalling; I love the BBC; I love wit; I love rooftops and views thereof; I love Northern cities; I love geeky inside jokes; I love my guitar; I love washing my hair; I love my pot plants; I love book shops; I love breakfast; I love rugs; I love the smell of sun lotion; I love buttons; I love literary theory; I love chance meetings; I love baking things; I love old photographs; I love travelling; I love cobblestones; I love Los Campesinos!; I love the ridiculousness of cats; I love olives; I love notebooks; I love male hands.

Tuesday, 26 May 2009

What a wonderful piece of luck that myspace grants us the opportunity to listen to Patrick Wolf's album in full before it even comes out. That allows sceptics like me to ponder and make up their minds whether it will be worth investing in. For despite my exuberant love for Patrick's music, my affection has definitely trended OFF him - as a person, as a concept, as a product - ever since The Magic Position came out. I had high hopes for this album, initially, but was bitterly disappointed, and indeed quite shocked, when I heard and saw the new single Vulture (for it struck me as sensationally crap, as sorry as I am to say that.)

Now, the new album certainly isn't that bad. Some of the it sounds a bit like the soundtrack to a cheapo celtic-style fantasy film - which is to a certain extent appreciable as a sort of guilty pleasure, maybe. Some of it - portions, that do not really deserve the term "song" - just sounds like self-indulgent electro wank, and in some places he even seems to have jumped on the Eurovision Bandwagon and gone all balkan fiddle pop! But in between there's moments of grandeur that possibly make up for the visual side of Patrick's new corporate design. Yes, yes, it is lovely to re-invent oneself with each new album, but must the reincarnation really be an S&M rent boy with the worst taste in leather outfits imaginable? It chars my heart to see the gentle, aesthetic person that I have known and loved since the Wind in the Wires era constantly force himself into shapes that seem artificial and somehow untrue (although the real situation probably is more like: they do not correspond to how I would like to see him.)

It crossed my mind that what we see in the Vulture video could possibly be meant to be ironic, or even "critical of society" ... but the former doesn't sound like Patrick, he's much too earnest for irony. And in case it's the latter, it's not a very successful attempt, I'm afraid. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't want to come across as all scandalised and puritan, it's just that I sense a certain discord within Patrick himself. I mean you can't prostrate yourself wearing nothing but leather straps around your genital area like that in your video, and then act all offended and sulk like a huffy little boy because somebody yells "Get your cock out!" at one of your gigs, because you're a "serious musician" and don't want to put up with that. There's something awry there!

But enough of this rant, for The Bachelor is actually really good. It will need a couple of listens, and it will have to be had on vinyl, to enable the greatest possible appreciation of the music - which is really, in some ways, a return to great moments of Wind in the Wires and B-side highlights. I wish this would also be reflected in the non-musical side of it all, the show, the style, the visuals. But maybe this is simply an album to listen to with your eyes closed. And make sure you always skip the penultimate track. ;)

Sunday, 24 May 2009

I love Vienna for its facades. This one is at the end of the wonderfully named Jasomirgottstraße.
In fact, I'm just posting this randomly for lack of anything else and what I had actually meant to take a picture of is not really visible any more: the woman who had daringly climbed out of the window in order to clean the outer window panes. She fled as soon as she noticed my interest and camera, and you can only catch a glimpse of her face behind the glass now.

Sunday, 17 May 2009

I had such a weird dream today.I went out in my home town like I used to when I still lived there permanently but haven't done in ages. I met a boy called Raphael, fell madly in love with him and took him home with me. He spent the night in my tiny bedroom, and in the morning my dad came in and he had to hide under the blanket. But my dad discovered him, was scandalised and chased him away ... out of the window! I was heartbroken.

Is this a horrific version of an American teen drama, or a nudge from my prophetic unconscious that I should go out in my hometown more often?Fact is, that when I woke up, I still had that warm and fuzzy feeling that you get from these dreams. It faded fast, and I was reminded of this song:

No matter in how much Morrissey poses with babies in Bob Fossil outfits, just for the sheer amount of excruciating truth he managed to express in his Smiths lyrics, and sometimes later, he will always be somehow sacred.

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Themes and Concerns of this Blogue

Curly apostrophes, Darwinism, and visual culture. Coping with the postmodern condition. Lifelike accounts of experiences of viewing, listening and imitating. The power of ‘Om Nom Nom’ (and pictures thereof). Theoretical discourse and theoretical discos. An insatiable hunger for the new paired with a neurotic fear of change. The weather. Spazzmatazz and other anachronisms. Myths and Metaphors. The Past. Cakes, books & rock’n’roll.